


Sink Your Teeth Into Me

by one_more_offbeat_anthem



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Case Fic, Castiel and Dean Winchester in Love, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff and Smut, Hotel Sex, Hotels, Hunters & Hunting, Light Smut, M/M, Non-Penetrative Sex, Power Outage, Sex, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-15
Updated: 2020-08-15
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:27:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25910554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/one_more_offbeat_anthem/pseuds/one_more_offbeat_anthem
Summary: Dean loves a million little things about Cas, but he can’t say it, or do anything about it—not until a stressful hunt, a packed motel, and a power outage change the game.(title/inspiration taken somewhat from the song Pretty Venom by All Time Low)
Relationships: Castiel & Dean Winchester, Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 10
Kudos: 105





	Sink Your Teeth Into Me

**Author's Note:**

> this is my first time writing something vaguely smut-like and even so I am a little vague (which is why it's mature not explicit) anyways enjoy I hope?

_I think I'm going through denial_

_It's been a while, but it's clear when it hits me_

_I think I might have gone insane_

_I rot my brain, getting high on our history_

_Always know I'll be the one you'd sink your teeth into_

_Never thought I'd taste this good to anyone but you_

Dean loved to watch Cas.

Not that he would ever say anything about it.

But it was moments like now, seeing the angel standing at the window of their tiny (and incredibly crappy) motel, his hair still partially wet from a shower and therefore sticking up everywhere gratuitously, wearing pajamas he had borrowed from Dean. There was something about the way that Dean’s old band tee and flannel pants hung off of Cas’s smaller frame that was…

Dazzling.

Otherworldly.

Admittedly, Cas had taken a hit recently. Normally, angels didn’t need much, if any, sleep, and Cas had been incredibly tired. His smiles weren’t as broad, his eyes weren’t as…

Hm.

Dean hated the word _glimmering_.

They just didn’t seem quite like his Cas’s eyes.

Of course, Dean knew that Cas would never really be his. There was too much history, too much stuff in the past, and he couldn’t lose Cas again—that would be like losing everything. It _would_ be losing everything.

But here Dean was, laying on the full-sized bed in a cruddy hotel. They had, owing to some stupid festival or something, only been able to get a room with one bed, but Dean was trying to take it in stride, trying to ignore what he knew.

He wasn’t just infatuated with Cas—he was in the love, the kind of love where you could hand someone a blanket before they got cold, give someone more even if you got less, look out for them, put them first. He was in love in a way that was making him less selfish, more thoughtful, more—

“Cas,” Dean said gently, “You need some sleep.”

“I’m fine,” the angel replied, “Could be worse.”

“But it could be better.”

Cas turned from the window, “The stars are nice tonight. Wish there wasn’t so much light pollution, though, so many streetlights.”

“Haven’t you seen the stars for millennia?”

“They change all the time, Dean.” But Cas relented, walked away from the stars and fell onto the bed face-first. A second later, the lights turned out.

“Thanks,” Dean said, “Sleep tight.”

“G’night, Dean.”

Dean rolled over to face the wall, the light from the street lamps still filtering in, making it hard to sleep. Finally, though, his exhaustion took over, and he drifted off, lulled by the sounds of Cas’s steady breathing.

*****

It was hot.

Like, _hot_.

Dean woke up to find Cas sprawled out on top of him. He gently moved the angel’s arms before sitting up himself. It was borderline sweltering. How was Cas not affected?

He moved silently through the room. It was pitch black, and when he went to turn on a lamp to check the thermostat, nothing happened. Dean ventured so far as to attempt to turn on the overhead light, and then, finally, it dawned on him why the room was so dark.

The power was out.

Dean sat back on the bed, pulling his shirt off and curling back up on top of the sheets. Maybe he would be able to fall back asleep.

“Dean?”

 _Crap_ , Dean thought to himself, but out loud he said, “Cas, you alright?”

“It’s warm.”

“I know. I think the power’s out, I tried to change it.”

“That sucks.”

Dean felt the angel shift on the mattress, and then the next time Cas spoke, his voice was closer, “Wish I could fix it. Can’t.”

“It’s okay. You should save your grace. You could always take your shirt off to cool down, it’s what I did—“ Dean instantly regretting saying it. He was partially glad it was so dark, so that Cas couldn’t see his bare torso—and some other things.

“S’not a bad idea.” There was rustling, and then a flailing of elbows, one of which knocked Dean in the chest, and then a light noise that sounded like a shirt being tossed on the floor.

About ten minutes later, Cas spoke again, his voice still rimmed with tiredness, “I’m not gonna be able to fall back asleep.”

“Me either.” It was damn near sweltering in the room now, and Dean rolled away from the wall towards Cas’s voice, “Wanna talk?”

“Always.”

The certainty and surety in the angel’s voice made Dean catch his breath for a moment, a break in the system, the usual rigamarole. He couldn’t see Cas, but he knew how the angel’s face must look right now—a half-open grin, slight crinkling of the eyes. He _knows_ it.

“Bout what?”

“Dunno.” Cas yawned, “Whatever you wanna talk about. Like…..eternity.”

“You wanna talk about eternity? You’ve been alive for it.”

“Not quite.” Cas shifted closer, “It’s a funny thing, you know……I saw so much before I came to Earth but I didn’t really _see_ it, y’know?”

“Sure.”

“Or feel it. I was….detached. But now I get it…..all the fuss. About emotions and stuff. Could never understand why you guys did what you did, but then I get a certain feeling in my gut and—“ Cas stopped short.

“And what?”

The next phrase is a whisper, “And I feel like everything makes sense, even though it doesn’t. Cognitive dissonance.”

“Hm.”

“What humans call….affection? Love? I don’t know. It’s a mixture.”

Dean swallowed uncomfortably, “Where’d you find this feeling?”

“Didn’t find it. Think it got grown.”

“That’s how those things work.”

There was a rustling and a shifting of the crummy mattress, and suddenly Dean could feel Cas’s breath on him, the angel clearly inches from his face.

“Hi, Cas,” Dean whispered, “Did you mean to be this close?”

“Didn’t _not_ mean to be this close,” was the whispered response.

Dean felt a tug in his own gut—he knew exactly what Cas was talking about—and before he could channel any of the angel’s rationale for these things, he leaned his head forward, intending to knock his lips against Cas’s. Instead, he met the spot under Cas’s eye, at the top of his cheekbone.

Embarrassed, he tried to roll away, pretend it was a mistake, but then Cas’s hands slid around until they found Dean’s shoulders, pulling him close again.

“Find my mouth,” Cas whispered.

“Two-way street, that one,” Dean replied, already leaning in, grazing his lips over the light stubble on Cas’s cheek until finally he met his target. Cas’s mouth opened lightly as their lips met, with a sort of hunger.

Then the kiss gave way. The sensation of Cas’s hands on his bare shoulders, and of this, something Dean had stopped (mostly) dreaming of happening, fed into the feeling in his stomach, which catapulted into a thick, heavy sting in his chest as their lips slip and slid against each other. Cas’s breath hitched as their tongues met, their teeth knocking together, and Dean began to feel a growing tension in his boxers.

Cas pulled away a moment later, “Got carried away, sorry.”

Dean then remembered that, if the angel wanted to, he could hear Dean’s thoughts, and Dean sighed, “S’not that, Cas, it’s…” He moved his hands from where they had been, cupping the angel’s cheeks, to pull the other man tight against him, “Dunno. I mean, I do know, just…finding the words.”

“Take your time.” The angel’s lips tickled his ear.

“You know my soul. You…you’ve seen me at my best and my worst and you’ve stayed. I mean, none of chose to exist….but we choose where we are and you keep choosing me. And so this….” Dean thinks about the way his chest warms when he sees Cas do little things, tilting his head or reading or smiling at some birds, and then his growing hard-on, “It’s a balance. A knife’s edge between…it is….it is love. That’s the feeling. I’m…”

“I understand.”

“Had to say it.”

“So do you not want to keep on because of……..?”

For the first time in his life, Dean wanted sex, but he was also okay with not having it. He was okay, more than okay, with this moment here. Despite the sweltering heat. He liked this moment, with Cas’s sleep-drunk voice, soft around the edges, and the confusion of finding each other’s mouths. It felt real, more real than any instance of getting jerked off or something had. But he also knew that this was what would make the next moments, if he kept going, so much better. That shooting combination of pain and pleasure in his chest would rise to a peak—and he wouldn’t have to leave at the end of the night. He could have both moments.

Instead of answering, he traced his fingers down Cas’s bare back, memorizing the muscles, moving his face back down. As their lips met again, it was Cas’s turn to cup Dean’s face, and Dean found himself reaching a hand up to place on top of one of Cas’s hands. They rolled over until they were in the middle of the bed, Dean over Cas, and their kisses became more sloppy and hungry, like Cas was eating Dean’s heart. He felt the pressure below grow as he pressed the angel into the mattress.

By this point, Cas’s hands had moved to grip Dean’s shoulders, and now, he tentatively reached one hand downwards, trailing it down Dean’s chest, until he met his crotch. Unconsciously, Dean thrust into Cas’s palm. But he wanted more. He wanted the angel to take him in his hand, but even more, he wanted to elicit more of the hitches of breath Cas had made at his first thrust.

He moved his face away, whispering, their lips brushing, “It’s more fun if—“

“I know.” And then the angel released his other shoulder, running his fingers under the waistband of Dean’s flannel pants, until Dean rolled sideways, releasing Cas from being held down into the mattress, and helped him. Cas reached for him, now fully hard, but Dean pressed his lips against the angel’s messily, “You too. Lemme help—“

In moments, they were both nude, and Dean wished he could actually _see_ Cas at this moment, trace his curves with his eyes and not just his fingers. There was a pause, a moment of hesitation, before—

This time, the gentle kisses were gone, replaced with passion tinged with some else, something stronger than threatened to fold Dean in two. He found his hands raking down Cas’s sides feverishly, gaining a whimper from the angel, before taking Cas in his hand, allowing the other one to rise up and hold the angel’s cheek. He kept his forehead pressed against Cas’s as he tightened his grip, stroking first up, then down, twisting slightly.

“Tell me if you want me to stop,” Dean whispered.

Instead of responding with words, Cas simply pressed his lips into Dean’s again, before moaning softly into their kiss. The moan illicited more of a fire for Dean, and more of an incentive to increase the speed of his strokes.

“Let me—let me,” Cas panted, “Don’t want to have all the fun.”

Dean expected Cas to reach down and take him, as he had, but instead, they rolled over again, until Cas was on top, slotting his body over Dean’s so that they could rub against each other.

As they picked up speed, finding the sweet spot, their kisses picked up speed, coming to a breaking point. Impulsively, Dean bit Cas’s lip, earning an arched back from the angel. Before long, though, the insistent knocking together of their mouths gave way to sloppiness as they moaned together, reaching the end—

“Dean, I— _fuck_.” The last word from Cas’s mouth was gutteral, and then he finished, his body shaking with pleasure. Dean held him the whole time, held him close, his lips pressed to the angel’s collarbone as his own orgasm started.

They found themselves lying on the sheets, tangled together, covered in sweat and God only knew what else.

Well, Dean knew.

He held the angel, now worn from his climax, tight to him, threading his fingers through Cas’s hair, wondering what it looked like.

“Can we look at the stars?” Cas asked, his lips brushing Dean’s neck as he spoke. Dean nodded, his chin brushing the top of Cas’s head.

When they had stumbled through the dark to the window, Dean had intended to hold the angel close again, to feel their skin together, but he stopped short as the moonlight cast its pale glow over Cas. He looked otherworldly—because he _was_ otherworldly, Dean reminded himself. He shimmered, looked how his soul looked.

Now, Cas tilted his head, stared at the constellations. “They’re beautiful, Dean.”

“You’re beautiful.” The words slip out of his mouth unbidden, but before he can take them back, Cas has taken his hand, their fingers woven together,

“Thank you.”

Dean revised his definition of love.

It was blankets and wishing for the best. It was Cas’s blue eyes in the morning and his raucous singing in the Impala. It was Cas knowing exactly what he liked, rolling their bodies together as if it wasn’t the first time but the thousandth time. It was staring at the stars in a crappy motel room on a hunt in the middle of a power outage. It was the breaking point where his heart swallowed him whole. It was this, and this, and so much more.


End file.
